Old Joke
by LSMunch
Summary: It's all small talk really, because she doesn't want to talk, really talk, like he wants her to. Like she knows she eventually will. With him, it's inevitable.


"Benson," she answers the phone groggily.

"Get dressed and-"

"Munch," she groans, drawing out his name.

"-and then open your door."

She growls and slams the phone down. She glances at the clock and groans again, quarter to one in the morning. And she's not on call. Dragging a pair of jeans on and a shirt she walks barefoot across the carpet of her bedroom and living room to the cold tile of her kitchen. She opens the door and stands in Munch's way. "What do you want?"

He holds up a bagel and hot coffee as a sort of peace offering. "Roadtrip."

"Munch-"

"Finish doing whatever you do to get ready and then we're leaving. You can eat in the car."

She glares at him, but moves aside, letting him in. He follows her as far as the living room, where he promptly settles himself on the couch, coat and shoes still on. He himself is clad in somewhat faded jeans and a turtleneck as well as a black vest. He listens as she moves around her bathroom, muttering things to herself and slamming things around. The water runs and for a moment that's all he hears, but she shuts it off and soon comes out. "I'm ready." Her voice is notably calmer and softer, but he can hear the anger still lingering.

He removes himself from the couch and leads the way to the door, picking up the bagel and coffee he left on her counter. "You might want to wear a warm coat."

"Where are we going?"

"You'll see." He watches with amusement dancing in his eyes as she throws open a closet and grabs a winter coat, pulling it on.

She follows him out the door, turning around and locking it before continuing behind him down the stairs. He holds the door open for her at the bottom, but she continues by him, though she can almost feel his amused smile following her. How he's this awake at this obscure hour of the morning is beyond her, so she decides to just accept the food and drink he hands her and eat in silence.

"Olivia, wake up." He shakes her shoulder gently, his voice gentle as well.

"Wha?"

"We're here. C'mon."

She blinks owlishly at him, unwilling to leave the warm cocoon she's made herself out of her jacket and a blanket Munch had given her. He smiles at her before patting her shoulder and climbing out of the car, stretching. She tries to open her door, only to find it locked. She fumbles with the lock for a moment before finally getting it and climbing out. Shivering, she closes the door and looks around. Munch is doing something in the trunk and she can hear what sounds like crashing waves. Looking up, she can see stars, thousands of them.

"Beautiful, isn't it?" he mutters and she starts. She hadn't heard him close the trunk and walk over. She looks at him only to be met with his neck which is bent back, looking at the sky as well. Without another word, he starts walking away and it takes her a moment before following him.

"What's that?" She yawns, motioning towards the long stick in his hands.

"Fishing pole."

She raises her brow. "Never pegged you as a fisherman."

He shrugs. "To each his own."

"I suppose."

"Watch your step." Suddenly, he's a good half foot shorter and she knows why as she stumbles off the wood planked path to the sand. "Told you."

"Be quiet," she replies irritably. Taking in the ocean, sand and the fact that Munch is carrying a fishing pole, she says, "So you brought me out here so you can fish?"

"Maybe."

"I'm not gonna talk, just so you know."

"You don't have to."

That takes her back. Usually he pushes until she spills, which for some reason, always works. Even in the worst of moods. "Really?"

"Really really."

Laughing, she asks, "You saw Shrek, didn't you?"

"My nephew got me to watch it with him. You?"

"I watched it with Dickie and Elizabeth one time."

"Funny movie."

"Hmm." They walk along the beach, seeing a few people, hearing only the crashing of the waves and their own breathing. After a while, Munch stops near some rocks and unhooks the plug from where it's grabbing the pole. He walks a little closer to the water and casts, waiting a moment before beginning to reel in. She watches him do this a few more times before walking up to his left side.

"What am I supposed to do?"

"Whatever you want. We'll leave after the sun comes up."

She watches as he casts again and follows with her eyes where she thinks the plug went. "What time is it?"

"About five thirty. Don't worry, it's only an hour or so out here."

She groans and he laughs. "Shut it, Munch. It's not funny." His laughing diminishes until he's left with just a smile on his face. "Where the hell are we anyway?"

"Weekapaug beach, fishing in the Atlantic Ocean. Well, you're only looking at it, I'm doing the fishing, but I'm sure you get the point."

"Weekapaug? Still doesn't tell me where we are."

"Rhode Island."

"Rhose Island? Why the hell did you take me all the way out here anyway?"

He shrugs. "I think you were a parrot in a previous life." He waits for her to respond, but when she doesn't, "I dunno. Seemed like a good idea at the time. If I'd've known you'd be complaining so much, I wouldn't have bothered to wake your lazy bum up."

"Thanks," she says sarcastically.

"I knew you'd appreciate my thoughtfulness."

They lapse into silence and she watches him fish and the sky alternatively. As the minutes go by, the sky gets lighter, turning into a rainbow of colors near the horizon, ranging from red all the way to blue and back behind her into deeper blues. One spot on the horizon gets brighter than the rest, until the sun begins to peek out and suddenly there's this wonderful brilliant light as the sun comes up. Munch has stopped casting to watch it and watches her as well, noticing the delight and wonder in her features as she glimpses the first bit of sun of the day.

"Let's get something to eat," he says softly in her ear. She nods dumbly. Placing his hand on her back he says, "C'mon. We'll get you something warm." She lets herself be led away from the ocean and back to the car. As she climbs in and fastens her seat belt, he takes his rod apart and folds it, placing it in the trunk. He gets in the drivers side and starts the car, blasting the heat and noticing her shivering. "It'll be warm soon."

He pulls into the gravel parking lot, turning off the car and unbuckling. "Here we are." He steps out of the car and takes off his jacket, trowing it on his seat. She only hugs hers closer and walks beside him as they cross a dirt road and come to a little building, though the clinking of glasses can be heard within as well as voices. He opens the rickety screen door and lets her in and she pulls open the heavier door, noting how Munch takes a paper from a rack and leads her to a table in a corner.

A waitress immediately comes over and fills Munch's coffee cup. "Regular?"

"Yes, please." The waitress fills her cup as well.

"The usual?" she asks Munch who just smiles and nods. "Would you like a menu?" the waitress asks, turning to Olivia.

"Please."

"Be right back." And she does just that, smiling at Munch before going to another table.

"Usual?" she questions Munch.

He shrugs. "I've been here a time or two. Good memory that woman's got." He winks and she can't help but smile and shake her head at him.

Looking at the menu, she glances back at Munch, who's absorbed by his paper. "What would you suggest?"

He looks up, "Anything."

Looking back down at the menu, she mutters, "Real helpful today, huh?"

"If I were you, I'd pick one of the specials. Fin liked number five, Brian liked number three and Cragen was partial to number one, as am I."

"What, you couldn't fit Elliot or Monique into your schedule?"

"Actually, Elliot's schedule couldn't fit me." He shrugs. "His loss. As for Monique, the weekend we had planned to go, she quit. She was so angry about the whole ordeal, she refused to go." He looks back at his paper, hiding his face. "I went alone."

The waitress returns and Olivia orders a number one; scrambled eggs with white toast and bacon. "She'll be back in five minutes with food," Munch predicts, still reading his paper.

"Where's the bathroom?"

He looks up and points to the opposite corner. She turns around. "Right over there. Knock first," he advises already reading his paper again. She gets up, leaving her coat draped over the chair and makes her way through the tables and chairs. She knocks first, as Munch suggested, and enters, not hearing anything inside. It is a small bathroom, toilet, sink, a garbage can between them with a roll of paper towels on the wall above that. Looking in the mirror above the sink, she deduces that she looks like shit.

She does her best to put her hair back in order, thrown awry by the wind on the beach and her sleeping in the car. Turning on the hot water, she sticks her hands underneath the flow and washes them, glad for the industrial soap they have because somehow her hands are quite filthy and smell like salt. She rips a towel off the roll and dries her hands, fixing her hair one last time before exiting the bathroom, throwing the used towel away. Munch is calmly waiting for her when she returns, food on both their places.

"I was gone for five minutes?" she jokes.

"No, business isn't that fast this early in the morning, so the food came in three minutes, 'stead of five."

She shakes her head and looks at the food before her. "That's a lot."

"Trust me, you'll eat it." He picks up a piece of toast and selects the grape jelly from the holder and opens it, spreading half over the piece of toast. Then he promptly takes a large bite out of it and closes his eyes, faking a southern accent. "Hmm mmm. Good eatin' this is."

She can't help but laugh at him, which earns her a waggle of his eyebrows. They eat, talking about everything from politics to how they dress on a stakeout in the winter. It's all small talk really, because she doesn't want to talk, really talk, like he wants her to. Like she knows she eventually will. With him, it's inevitable. For some reason, she can never really refuse him and his antics he uses to get her to talk. And when she does talk to him, there's always this understanding, sometimes spoken, other times beneath the surface. But she knows he gets it. Somehow, he gets it.

That's not to say her partner doesn't get it. He does. And a lot of the time, she turns to Elliot. But she can't always. He's got his own problems... Munch does too, it's just... she knows no judgement will be passed with Munch. Sometimes... sometimes Elliot judges her and like anyone, she doesn't always appreciate it. She knows he doesn't do it on purpose, to try and make her feel bad, but he does and it's not always best to talk to the same person all the time. Talking to Munch is, for her, a second opinion. A person to go to when she doesn't necessarily agree with Elliot or even herself. A reassurance.

"Hey, you all right there?" Munch's soft voice makes it's way into her thoughts, almost as if to underline them.

Shaking her head as if to fling the thoughts away, she says, "Yeah. Just thinking."

He chuckles. "And here I was thinking that smell was the food burning. You done?"

She glances at her plate, which is empty. "Yeah. I didn't think I could eat that much."

He laughs again. "Normally I don't do this, but I told you so."

"More like every chance you get, you old man."

He smiles cheekily. "Oh, come on. You know you love me."

She rolls her eyes back, shaking her head. "Yeah, yeah."

He smiles like a child who has just gotten his way. "Let's blow this popsicle joint," he says pushing his plate away. Rising, he looks pointedly at her, fishing his wallet out of his back pocket. Seeing Olivia about to protest, he lifts a hand. "This is my treat. You can pay for dinner." He leads the way to the cash register near the door and their waitress hurries over.

"Thank you for coming."

"Thanks, doll." He grins at her and she smiles back, hitting his arm playfully as she goes by.

"Don't you forget it, John."

"I won't," he calls after her, before opening the door and letting Olivia by.

"Getting friendly, aren't we?" she jokes as she walks past him.

"Eh, it's an old joke. But if she asked, I wouldn't mind going--"

"Oh, shut up, Munch."

"Hey, there are some women who find older, intelligent, sensitive, more mature men very attractive."

"You hold on to that dream." She opens the door, but before getting in, looks at him over the roof. "So, where to next?"

He shrugs. "Hit the beaches up to the Charelstown breachway and then Quonnie and then straight up to Narragansett."

She looks at him, silent.

"Alien language?"

She nods which earns a laugh from him.

"Just get in. I'll show you." He climbs in the car, but she stands a moment, wondering over the oddity that makes up John Munch. He leans over and looks up at her through her open door. "Well?"

They walk along the beach and she wonders, if Munch were any other guy, if she would have her hand wrapped in his. If she would even be walking down a beach, watching the waves roll in, enjoying the breeze and a silence that is understood in it's entirety. Where no words really need to be spoken, but are, out of habit. Out of common courtesy for those around them.

Lagging behind a few paces, she watches his back as he continues walking, seemingly unaware that she's behind him and no longer beside him. Without his long coat, or even his suit, he looks so different. Munch in jeans is a sight she thought she'd never see. The shirt and vest she's seen on him before, but it's the jeans that throw her off the most. She bets that if she went to work Monday and told the guys, they wouldn't believe her. Then again, he did mention he'd brought Fin and Cragen here. She shrugs, deciding to leave the subject alone.

She almost bumps into him as he stops, lost in her thoughts as she was. "He told me to take you here."

"Who?"

"Stabler. He told me... said you'd like it."

She looks hard at his face, trying to discern what he's feeling, but his expression gives no hints. Instead, she looks at his eyes, which are watching the ocean. "He was right."

"I'm sorry."

She shrugs, trying her best to brush it off. "It's all right. It was bound to happen."

"Isn't it always?" He continues to walk and she pauses before trotting after him, to slow down and walk beside him.

"Do you... do you ever talk to Monique? Or Brian?"

"Sometimes." He stops again and turns to face her. "Liv... with me and Monique and Brian... it was different. We weren't in love."

"Elliot and I weren't in love. It was just stupid, all right?" She doesn't want to do this. Doesn't want to drag up all those memories she thought she's buried.

"It wasn't just stupid. You and I both know that. You and Elliot shared something none of the rest of us ever had. You two were the partners everyone wanted to be... You embodied what partnership was, is and should always be. You don't find that anywhere else. I've looked enough places to know that."

She looks at him angrily, feeling the tears rise unbidden and she tries to force them down. "What do you know, Munch? What the hell do you know? How many times have you been married?" He's silent and she answers for him. "Four times. What the hell do you know about love?"

He refuses to rise to the bait, choosing instead to help her. To save her. "I know enough to know what it isn't. You two had it all and neither of you saw it or accepted it with the grace I know you have. You shoved and worried at it and abused it so much you killed it. _You_ killed it. You and Elliot. No one but you. So this pain you're feeling, this unbearable pain, it's your fault. You could've embraced that love... but you pushed it away, Liv. You pushed it away."

The emotion in his voice scares her. She knew he cared, but never knew he cared that much. "How do you know... I'm in pain?" she challenges, though it doesn't sound much like one considering her voice is almost a whisper and the tears are beginning to leak by.

He looks at her, horrible hopelessness staring at her. "I can see it in your eyes," he whispers simply.

"How do you know what it even looks like?" She doesn't want to admit it. Doesn't want to admit defeat.

"Because I see it in my own eyes," he chokes out. "Because I've been through it and I can't just sit back and let you struggle through it alone."

The tears are coming a bit faster now and she wants to turn away. To turn away and run, but his eyes, reflecting the same pain as hers, stay her feet. She feels immobilized, as this a great force is pouring fast drying cement around her legs. "John... I..."

"Shhhh." He steps forward and embraces her with long arms. "Shhhh..."

She stands there for a moment, unsure of herself, before giving in and wrapping her arms around him as well. Burying her head in his chest, she holds on to him for all she's worth, hoping to squeeze out her pain, and his. The crash of the ocean seems far off now, the wind a mere breeze tickling her and bothering her.

"Shhhh... shhhh..." he continues to whisper, resting his chin on her head. He rubs her back in soothing circles, trying to calm her. "Shhhh..."

"Shhhh..."


End file.
